


5 Times They Almost Met +1

by x_Lazart_x



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 5 Times, Bondlock, M/M, Q's fascinated, it'll happen, kind of but just barely, pre-00Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_Lazart_x/pseuds/x_Lazart_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Quentin Holmes saw Bond, the agent was stealing his car. Each time after that just left him more fascinated and curious, until finally, as Q, he meets Bond in the National Gallery for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times They Almost Met +1

 

When you were born a Holmes, certain expectations were placed on you; that's just the way it was. You were held to a higher standard than most, and living in a small community where everyone was constantly in each others' business, it could be incredibly tedious. Especially when you were following in the wake of Mycroft and Sherlock.

****

Regardless, there was also an upside to a small town lifestyle. Well, there were several, but this one was by far the most prominent. The Holmes’ were known to be good people. Granted they could be a little aloof at times, but they’d hired quite a few people from town to work on their estate over the years and were more than willing to donate money if the cause was a good one. That sort of thing garnered quite a bit of good will and, as such, people tended to allow the family their little eccentricities.

****

Quentin Holmes was the youngest of the three, as previously mentioned, but he was also the quietest. While his brothers had attracted a lot of attention to themselves, he was more than happy to keep to himself. A lot of people had a soft spot for the small boy with glasses and an unruly head of hair who spent most of his time fiddling around with some type of electronic device: constantly taking them apart, putting them back together, and figuring out how they worked. So when he decided at 17 that he wanted to learn howto drive, the town’s people were more than willing to keep it on the downlow for him.

****

Not to say that his parents would have stopped him from learning (though certainly no one in the family had their own license), but Quentin wanted to do this on his own and people could respect that.  

****

With his parents gone more often than they were home, he had plenty of opportunities to practise. His old nanny, now a housekeeper, took him out in one of the old cars the Holmes’ kept for their servants to run errands in. They went at the same time every day with giant learner plates on the car so that everyone knew when to stay clear. Turns out there might be a reason the rest of the family didn’t drive, if they were as dismal at it as he was.

****

Just six weeks in, Quentin was already beyond frustrated. After taking another corner too sharply and scuffing along the curb, he decided he’d had enough. Pulling into a car park, he cut the engine and got out, pacing away some of his frustration.

****

“I’m obviously not cut out for this,” he sighed when Debra came to stand beside him, smiling patiently.

****

“Don’t be down on yourself, it just takes some people a little longer than others is all. Tell you what, you can treat me to a cuppa and then we’ll give it another go. Alright?”

****

A reluctant smile tugged on his lips as he obediently followed her away from the car and headed towards her favourite tea shop in town. They’d barely gone a block when the blaring of a car alarm started up behind them. It quickly cut off, but Quentin already felt dread setting low in his gut. Sure enough, two seconds later, a car was speeding down the road towards them. His car, to be more precise.

****

The driver was male, light hair, maybe late twenties... and was that blood on his face? And then he was gone, taking Quentin’s car with him. As he helplessly watched his car disappear, a small wave of relief washed over him. This was an omen, he thought, he clearly wasn’t meant to be a driver. Not even fighting his smile, he walked into the nearest shop, where Debra was already on the phone calling the police.

****

 

* * *

 

****

University was dull. The classes were monotonous and even though he never attended classes, he got firsts at the end of his first year and expected the same for the upcoming one. Truth be told he was only enrolled because his Mother wanted it, after the disappointment of Sherlock running off to London, Quentin was loathe to do the same.

****

Besides, with his Mother paying his expenses while he was in school, it left him plenty of time to play around with codes and computer programming. And that was him using the term ‘play’ very loosely.

****

His computer and laptop were both state of the art, having built them himself. With no flatmates and barely any distraction from University, there was plenty of time for him to do what he liked. Every other day he’d sit in a local coffee shop for a few hours and sometimes a few other regulars would swing by the table for a chat, that was about the extent of his socialising though. Oh and there was a stray cat who would drop by his flat every now and again, staying for a few days before leaving for another while.

****

Last month he’d been working on getting into the Mexican government’s computers undetected and it had been too easy. From there he’d moved onto the CIA, which had been slightly more difficult. Still, he’d managed to pull it off undetected.

****

This month his plan was to get into MI6. Unfortunately, his successes the previous month had made him a little careless, leading him to tripping an alarm. That was when a bit of worry had set in. Calling Mycroft’s personal mobile he left a short message detailing what had happened before sitting by the window and waiting to be picked up.

****

One thing to be said for MI6 was that their response time was fairly impressive. Not even five minutes later, the street was crawling with cars and people in suits. One in particular caught his eye, an attractive man who just... had this air about him.

****

Quentin didn’t even realise he was staring until the man looked up and noticed him. Even from three floors up the blue eyes caught and held his full attention. The moment dragged on, only ending when the mystery man looked away, pulling a phone from the inside of his jacket.

****

As the pounding began on his door, the stranger turned and walked back to his car. Disappointed, knowing those blue eyes would be showing up in his dreams later, Quentin reluctantly got up to go answer the door before they decided to break it down. He wouldn’t have minded being handcuffed so much if the pretty eyes had been the one to do it... oh well maybe next time.

****

 

* * *

 

Turns out the government doesn’t take kindly to people trying to get into their intelligence networks. They’d kept him in a holding cell for two days. It hadn’t even taken them that long to realise he wasn’t a threat but he couldn’t be let off too lightly, or so he imagined.

****

In the end they weren’t going to let such potential go to waste. An agreement was reached. Quentin would be taken on as an apprentice of sorts in Q branch and in return he was to sign a bunch of paperwork, saying that he wouldn’t tell anyone and all manners of other dull technicalities.

****

The bright side was that now there was a valid reason to leave university, not only that but he’d be learning everything he wanted by some of the most talented people in the country.

****

Of course Mycroft had learned of his position. Granted he wasn’t too high up in the government (yet) but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t have plenty of contacts already. After that it was inevitable that Sherlock find out (and in the most obnoxious manner possible announce that such a job was beneath him). They’d both agreed not to tell their Mother, lest they cause her undue distress.

****

Still, Mycroft had offered his help, to make the imminent move to London as pain free as possible. Quentin was certainly not above utilising all his resources to make this move easy. If there was one thing he hated it was flat hunting.

****

Hence why today he’d jumped on the earliest train headed into the city. The plan was to meet his brother for lunch at one. Before that he wanted to explore and familiarise himself with his future home. After lunch he might even grab a pint. It was incredibly unlikely that Mycroft would agree to accompany him but thats what men his age were supposed to do right?

****

Wandering up and down the streets he stopped in a few places to treat himself to a new cardigan that caught his eye and a few knick knacks he’d been  meaning to pick up. Even though he’d been strolling along slowly, an hour before lunch and he’d already seen everything he had planned to, so he headed towards the restaurant his brother had directed him too. Knowing Mycroft he was probably already there.

****

Twenty minutes later he was being led towards a table where Mycroft was seated, just in time to see a man get up and leave, heading his way. Quentin couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew that man... he looked so familiar. It wasn’t until their gazes locked that Quentin  could place him. Those blue eyes had crossed his mind often enough. Just as he was opening his mouth, to say what he didn’t really know, he collided with a server. Swearing he fumbled to help the guy up. By the time he straightened, glancing around the man was gone and once again he’d missed the opportunity.

****

Mycroft gave him a knowing smile as he pulled himself together and joined his brother at the table, barely restraining himself from asking a million questions about the other man. Instead he distracted himself with talk of the move and what he could expect living in London.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Two years later and Quentin loved working for MI6. The job was challenging, the people were interesting and the fast paced lifestyle of London and her inhabitants just worked for him.

****

Thats why he was disgruntled about being forced on a holiday. Somehow his Mother had gotten it into her head that he was overworked. Funnily enough neither Mycroft nor Sherlock were being forced away from their own work. Well work was a very loose definition for what Sherlock did to occupy his time. Never the less his immediate supervisor, upon hearing about the holiday (god knows how but a person got used to such things when working for MI6), had thought it was a brilliant idea and that he could do with a break.

****

Thus he found himself in a holiday resort, sitting by the pool and cursing the hotels slow wi-fi, while his Mother spent the day at the spa. While he wasn’t sure he could call this holiday relaxing, there was at least plenty of eye candy in the water to occupy himself with, instead of just staring at the loading page on his screen.

****

Finally though enough was enough and he got into another server, conveniently bypassing their security. Besides it wasn’t as if he was hurting anyone, they wouldn’t even notice one more device on their network.

****

Lazing out in the heat was getting to him and Quentin was starting to doze off when an explosion jolted him awake. Instantly alert, he immediately identified the direction the sound came from. Of course the spirals of smoke were a rather large clue.

****

Trying to remember what exactly was off in that direction from the tours his Mother had insisted on them taking upon arrival, he got into nearby security cameras.  It took a few seconds to locate the origin of the blast but when he did it was for him to immediately recognise the man calmly walking away from the sight.

****

Occasionally over the past few years the man on screen had crossed his mind, this Bond, the name that Mycroft had so generously provided over lunch, years before. Certainly some of the rumours circling MI6 about the man had led to a few explicit dreams and left him more curious than ever. Perhaps that, on top of all the secrecy and hours required for work, could explain why none of his recent relationships had ended up being successful.

****

Before he’d even finished watching the tape it cut off, going to a blank screen that stated that the requested video could not be found. More than likely MI6 were covering his tracks. With an agent of the 00 status, you could never know if the agent was alive or dead in a ditch. Quentin hadn’t realised that worry had even been on his mind, not until the tension left him, leaving behind the urge to laugh. Curbing the desire with difficulty, he powered down his laptop and laid back. This holiday hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Quentin was currently regretting his entire existence. Okay that sounded very melodramatic. Really he only regretted last night. Today he turned twenty four and yesterday a few of the lads had insisted they go out to celebrate.

****

The walk home was the worst. He’d crashed on a mates couch instead of getting home after the pub but at some point in the night he must have lost his jacket. So now he was cold and had a pounding head, all of which was made worse by the few amused glances sent his way. After all, they’d all been there before.

****

Grabbing a cuppa from the first cafe he came upon, he stopped in his tracks when he spotted Bond. It had to be him, the right height, weight (by the looks of it), colouring... then he turned his head and it really was him.

****

Just as he was mulling over going to his table, the agent glanced over his shoulder, quickly getting up to follow his target, not even bothering to pack up his things in his hurry.

****

Feeling a little let down he got his tea and went to collect what Bond had left behind. The agent probably wouldn’t come back for it but the pen looked quite fancy, the book well worn. Whether they were props or actually belonged to the man Quentin didn’t know. Either way there was no harm in taking them in to headquarters and leaving them for Bond, just in case.

****

When he got back to his flat, he was fiddling with the pen, having  come to the realisation that there was more to it than an ordinary writing utensil. Careful not to accidentally set anything off, it didn’t take long to figure out that the pen contained explosives. An exploding pen. An honest to god exploding pen. Incredulous laughter escaped him and even when, an hour later, he was called into work he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

****

Taking them into work with him he dropped them off with Tanner, who’d know how to get them back to their rightful owner. he couldn’t resist adding a short note into the pages of the book

****

 

 

An exploding pen? A true relic from the dark ages. I didn’t realise they still made these. How quaint.

  
-QH

****

 

* * *

 

****

Becoming Q had both been expected and a surprise. Not to sound conceited but he had been aware that he would gain the position of quartermaster eventually, the only surprise was that it had been so soon, after all he was only twenty- five.

****

It was slightly overwhelming but he was a Holmes and could certainly rise to the challenge.

****

Only two months into the job and he was sent to meet Bond with his equipment. Squashing down his giddiness when he saw the agent sitting waiting for him, he strove for an air of professionalism. This was going to go swimmingly, he had a great feeling about this. Walking over, he lowered himself down onto the bench.

****

“Always makes me a little melancholy,” Q says, staring at the picture instead of the man beside him. Oh yes, this would be good. There was sure to be some hard times in front of them, but Q had faith that somehow, this was going to work out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come give me prompts or just to say hi at my tumblr [HERE ](http://x-lazart-x.tumblr.com/)


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